Wylfa nuclear power station on Anglesey sucked in the Irish Sea, channeled it through it’s reactors and then let the remaining water, by now heated by the process, run back out through a metal and concrete mouth . This was where the bass were to be found . From the woods nearby, built to hide the reactors, I could see men who’d not long clocked off, making their way over the headland with basic road and line set ups and tesco bags filled with makeshift bait.
‘Daschund’ wasn’t a factory worker. He’d heard of the outlet and had driven up the coast to get there. It was so warm he’d heard, that they said there was an old woman who’d been swimming there for years.
It was a pain to get close enough to cast off the rocks. One man arrived with his young son and one Chinese man in yellow sea fishing waterproofs stood at the swells edge. There was a group of ten or so, all with homemade gear.
‘We’ve cut them open to see what they’re eating’ Daschund said ‘..if they are eating more algae here, more than normal, but what we found is nothing different to elsewhere, so we don’t know why they come here and why there are so many. Some of the lads might take them to the Chinese restaurant in the nearest village to exchange them for a meal’
The days catch died on the sharp rocks, the skin becoming more and more metallic as the sun went down and the lights of the plant flicked on one by one. Here technology shaped nature. The fish where bigger than elsewhere, there were more of them too and the local men knew this. There was a silence around this though. Like that silence thats agreed between fishermen.